Your call is heard at high noon-day
A wistfull flute across the mere
As herdsman's whistle far away
Your call is heard at midnight clear
Then hear we, as you swell your keen
Barking afar, your hounds unseen

Your flocks the massive clouds of grey
And all four winds, your eager hounds
Awhile do pen them are they stray
And scattler once more out of bounds
A mute and restless drove on high
Amid the shieling of the sky